#I am being irrationally stubborn about this

[localcryptideli]

I just had a knee jerk reaction at seeing fanfic artists being called "content creators" all of the sudden. I read that and my brain went, through gritted teeth "they are artists. ARTISTS. WRITERS."

(rant below. I am pre-coffee and getting absolutely incensed about this for no reason so feel free to ignore me)

I am not sure why, but I think if I were to take a guess it is that "content creator" is such a commercialized term, like - the commodification of digital art and writing, which ultimately ends to the ends of advertisements and sponsoring on tiktok and instagram accounts.

Many companies don't want a graphic designer ot an illustrator or a video editor or a copywriter now, no, they want a "content creator" that will do it all for them in short small digestible formats and then dance like a monkey to get underpaid.

It's like the word is reductive in my brain now.

A content creator: a jack of all trades person (nothing wrong with that) who does social media content for a company's stupid marketing storytelling strategies, or as a freelancer in their own account in the hopes to attract companies to give subtle advertisement from. A commercialized artist. An artist not allowed to go astray from the commodification and sanitation of their own art least their source of income will be ripped away.

But still, in many cases, an artist.

Artists. Writers. These terms belong to you properly. You are not creating content - that is so reductive - you are a fanfiction writer or fanartist, you are making art for arts' sake goddammit. Your art exists beyond social media because you spent years refining it, practising it - it exists in your head, in your heart, in your homes, and in the heads, hearts, and homes of the people who see it and love it. I am begging you to not reduce yourself to a commodified figure, a "catch it all" term that belittles the effort you put in growing your specific niche and craft.

[choatic-bumblebee-agenda]

Oops I may be more like rp!Arrio than i thought

[takamimami]

I am a fucking idiot my brain clocked out while I was reading the prompts

All Angst;

2, 8, 11.

All with both Law and Kid (seperate)

Hello, my dear. Thank you for the request! I have been needing to crank out some good old heart-wrenching angst, so this request was much appreciated!

That being said, I am a sucker for both Kidd and Law, so this will be a two-parter - sorry to keep you waiting :3 but I promise there will be plenty of angst and smut in the next part, so hopefully it is worth the wait <3

Kidd/Law x F!Reader - SFW - "Please don't talk about yourself like that." - STORY UNDER THE CUT CW: ANGST; kidd is prideful and stubborn, law is moody and sensitive, crew mate!reader ---word count ~1k each

A simple comment about him controlling his temper was all it took to have you and your captain at each other’s throats. You couldn’t understand how he could be so brazen and hot-headed when danger stared him in the face, and he didn’t give you a chance to explain where your concerns stemmed from before he dismissed them completely, his stubbornness rearing its ugly head as he cut you off in the middle of your sentence.

“I don’t care to hear anymore, Y/N. I am the captain of this crew, and I will handle things my way. The pirate I am has gotten our crew to where we are so far - so if you have a problem with the way I handle things…”

🌷

“...Either keep it to yourself or get lost!”

You barely heard the words leave his mouth as he stared down at you, chest puffed out and breathing heavily as he yelled. Your eyes burned, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how hard his words hit you. Instead, you looked over to Killer - who normally played peacemaker between the two of you during your squabbles - to find him rubbing his temples as Kidd turned and stormed away from you, leaving you standing in the middle of the deck. Unbeknownst to you, Quincy was also lurking near the stairs to the helm, witnessing the fall out of what started out as a heart-to-heart with your captain.

You let the first sob shake your shoulders as the door to Kidd’s workshop slams shut, and Quincy and Killer are immediately on you, both of them reaching a reassuring hand to your shoulders. You brush away from their touch, storming to the bow of the ship to get away from everyone, feeling your chest tightening as you struggle to draw in breaths.

To your surprise Quincy follows you, lingering a few feet from where you grip the railing, trying your best to level your breathing as tears continue to sting your eyes. She doesn’t say anything, not wanting to leave you alone, but also not wanting to impose on your space as you try to settle your mind.

“He didn’t mean it,” she says softly, shifting closer to you as you turn and lean against the railing, keeping your eyes on the ground as she approaches.

“Yes he did,” you murmur, feeling the familiar self-doubt creep into your mind as you think over the argument that just occurred. “He’s always told me I’m too emotional for this lifestyle, so maybe I don’t belong here after all.”

Quincy flinches at your words, reaching her arms out and pulling you into a hug by your shoulders. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, Y/N,” she chastises, pulling away to look you in your eyes as she continues. “Kidd is just… emotionally constipated. Like, all the time. He views emotions as a sign of weakness, and he doesn’t realize that if everyone on this crew acted as irrationally as he did, we wouldn’t have made it this far.”

You hold back the new tears forming in your eyes as you look at Quincy, talking in her words as she offers you a gentle smile. 

“C’mon,” she nudges, “I know where Killer keeps his comfort snacks.”

She giggles as your lip curls into a smile, following her to the kitchen and immediately feeling a lump in your throat as you open the door to Kidd and Killer arguing in the kitchen.

Kidd’s eyes flick over to you, not even flinching at your disheveled appearance before he returns his gaze to Killer, who looks exasperated as he nudges his head in your direction. 

“Apologize.”

Killer’s authoritative voice makes you flinch as you keep your eyes on Kidd, his throat bobbing as he holds Killer’s glare. 

“Last time I checked, I am the captain of this crew,” he says between gritted teeth. He turns his gaze to you, eyes fiery with rage as he grows more defensive by the second. “And I don’t recall one of my responsibilities as captain to be coddling my crew when they don’t get their way.”

You feel your jaw tense at his words, and before you can swallow down the retort you take a step forward and press your hands to the counter. 

“Stop acting like a self-righteous prick, Kidd,” you snap, feeling the rage bubbling up from your gut as you lash out at him. “I only said what I did earlier because… I love you.”

The last words leave your mouth quieter than the previous ones, your voice cracking from the vulnerability behind them. This was only the second time you’d dare utter the words to Kidd, the first time you had been the day he lost his arm - when you weren’t sure he would make it. The two of you hadn’t spoken about it directly, but you knew Kidd was mindful of the way you felt for him, at least you thought that was the case until today.

You can feel Killer and Quincy tense as Kidd’s stance sharpens, his lip curling as if he were going to snarl at the words leaving your mouth.

“I didn’t ask you to love me.”

Your breath hitches as you hear the words hanging in the air, the weight of them bearing down on your shoulders as the tears burning your eyes begin to fall. 

Kidd looks away, almost wincing at your reaction as he speaks again.

“I am the way that I am, Y/N. You of all people should know this,” he grunts, moving from his spot across the kitchen and heading towards the door. “I don’t need any of you trying to change me or tell me what I should be doing.”

With that Kidd kicks open the door to the kitchen and stomps away, back out onto the deck. 

You try your best to hold in the sobs as you saunter over to the door, desperate to go curl up in your bed and try to sort through your thoughts. 

“Y/N,” Killer calls to you quietly, causing you to pause at the door as you try to muster the strength to answer him. 

Your lip quivers, the hole in your chest growing as you hear Kidd’s words echoing through your mind, and instead of saying anything you just look back at Killer. The pain in your eyes must have said enough because his shoulders slump as he watches you leave the kitchen.

Your vision blurs as you disappear below deck and into the women’s quarters, grateful that no one was around to hear you as your sobs rock you into a fitful sleep.

🐯

“...Maybe it's time to re-evaluate your position on this crew.”

You could feel your nails digging into your palms as you squeezed your hands into fists at your sides, feeling that familiar burn in your eyes as you watched Law resume wrapping the wound on his arm. 

He winces as he struggles to lift his shoulder, and you instinctively lunge towards him to assist him with wrapping the wound, your jaw tight as you work in silence. You fought the urge to tie the bandage too tight in retaliation as Law watched you work, his eyes softening ever so slightly as he took in how your delicate hands traced over his skin.

The door to his office swings open behind you as you finish tying off the gauze, and Bepo strolls in and drops a stack of paperwork onto Law’s desk before turning it over to the two of you. 

“Captain,” he says wearily, nodding awkwardly as he feels the tension in the air between the two of you. “Shachi and I are done sorting through the documents you brought back, and these are the ones that looked the most promising.”

Law turns his attention from you to Bepo, and you take the opportunity to shift away from him, shuffling towards the door in an attempt to dismiss yourself. 

“Y/N,” Law’s stern voice cuts through the air, Bepo flinching a bit as he casts a sympathetic gaze your way. “We’re not done, here.”

You squeeze your hands again, feeling your palms sting as you stop halfway through the doorway. You breathe in deeply before looking over your shoulder at him, his brows furrowing as he catches your heated glare.

Bepo salutes awkwardly as he shuffles towards the door, distress evident on his face as he disappears back down the hall, leaving you alone with Law once again.

You turn around and lean against the wall, eyeing Law from across the room as he hobbles over to his desk, skimming over the papers that Bepo left as he contemplates the next thing to say.

“I don’t appreciate being questioned, Y/N,” Law murmurs, eyes lifting to meet yours as he sits down behind his desk. “At the end of the day, the crew will do as I say, and I will take whatever necessary measures are needed in order to ensure we are successful.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you refocus on him. “So we are supposed to just stand idly by while you make reckless decisions, regardless of how risky they are? You expect your crew to just sit back and be yes-men?”

He grimaces at the tone in your voice, his eyes dropping back down to the papers on his desk. “I want my crew to trust me, and not question their captain’s decisions.”

“Well, I can’t do that, Law. Not when I care about you this much.” You feel your breath catch in your throat and your pulse rise at the realization of your admission. 

Law’s hand tightens on the edge of the table, and his eyes shoot back up to meet your heated gaze. “If you can’t trust me, Y/N, then why are you part of this crew?”

You suck in a shallow breath at Law’s question, wondering if he was asking it to you or to himself. 

“If you don’t want me here, just say that,” you say through clenched teeth, dropping your chin to your chest as you feel your eyes begin to burn.

Law grimaces, still holding firm as he keeps his gaze on you, “Your words, not mine.”

Not an admission, but his answer leaves little room for comfort as you slowly release the breath you had been holding. You can feel your pulse in your temples as you do your best to fight off the tears, turning away from Law and storming out of the room as you feel the first one slip through your lids.

You waited half a beat for him to call out to you, to come rushing after you to offer you the reassurance you were seeking - that he wanted you on his crew. But Law remained in his office chair as your trembling legs carried you down the halls of the polar tang, stopping as you round the corner to release the pressure building in your chest. A sob rakes through your body, your throat immediately going raw as the tears spill faster and faster. You bring a hand to your mouth to keep the sound from reaching your crewmates down the hall, ducking into the small corridor that leads to the small women’s quarters. 

You quickly enter the room and shut the door behind you, leaning your head against it as your sobs intensify, the sound vibrating off the walls of the empty room. You turn and lean against the door, sinking down to the floor and holding your knees to your chest as you try to get a grip on the emotions swirling through your chest. You hear footsteps approaching from down the hall and try to muffle the sounds of your cries, but Bepo’s soft knock at the door for some reason brings a whole new wave of emotions washing over you. 

“Y/N,” he calls gently through the door. You drop your head down onto your arms and continue sobbing, letting the pathetic sounds tell Bepo everything he needs to know as he lingers on the other end of the door.

“I’m fine, Bepo,” you croak, knowing you don’t sound anywhere near as convincing as you wanted to. “I’ll be gone soon, so you and the others won't have to worry about me. I’m sure you’ll find someone better suited for this kind of thing anyway.

Bepo leans into the door, wishing he could somehow offer you an embrace through it.

“Please don’t say that, Y/N. We need you.” 

Silence is all you can offer him as your eyes begin to burn again, fresh tears cascading down your face.

He stands there for a while before giving up, realizing you need this time to be alone as he places a supportive paw on the door opposite you before walking away. His footsteps disappear down the halls, leaving you alone with your thoughts - the sound of Law’s voice haunting your dreams as you slump onto the cold floor.

Part Two

100 Follower Event Masterlist ✨come say hai :3✨

[exhaslo]

Corruption Ch7

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4, Ch5, Ch6

Warning: Minors DNI, smut, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship?

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Three months, twenty days before D-Day

There was only so much Miguel could force himself to do. Winning your mind and affection was proving to be difficult for him to uphold. All he wanted was for you to just submit to him and answer all of his burning questions.

But you were too stubborn.

Miguel had to remind himself constantly that you needed some time. Some tender love and care, but that did not exist in Miguel's dictionary. This was for the sake of his experiments! Why was it so hard for you to just confess your little secret to him?!

"Miguel? Are you alright?" You asked softly.

"Yes-" He hissed before cussing quietly, "I'm still quite frustrated about my little toy choking on his own fucking acid salvia! There wasn't nearly enough research done one his transformed DNA!"

"Mig-" You bit your lower lip as he motioned towards his desk, "I already got you some new volunteers."

"Good."

Miguel waited for you to take your new seat. Planting yourself directly in front of him on your desk, Miguel sighed heavily. While he found it hard to show you affection, Miguel did find something that pleased him greatly.

Resting his head against your lap, Miguel closed his eyes as he tried to think. Miguel liked to think of this as his new thinking spot. It was just a few days ago that he thought of the idea. Not only did it score points with your stubborn heart, but it helped Miguel calm down and think better.

--------

You tried to cover your flustered cheeks as you let Miguel rest his head against your lap. Lately, you wasn't sure what was going on with Miguel. Perhaps that situation with his experiment really did make him see the light, somewhat.

Miguel had been a lot kinder to you lately. You, being blinded by love, were falling for each gesture he did or said. Even now, having his head against your lap made you go over the moon. His warm breathe exhaling against your legs made you shudder.

"If only that Spider-Woman would just answer my questions," Miguel said against your thigh. You shivered at the vibration,

"Why...is she so important?"

"She is the key to everything, (Y/N)." Miguel's hands rested against your thighs, "Wouldn't it be great is humans never got sick again? Never had to endure pain like a broken limb?"

"Yes?" You answered, agreeing to those ideas. Miguel grabbed your hands, smirking widly,

"Spider-Woman is the key to starting to free humans of that burden! Her advance abilities will be the start of a greater future!"

You could feel your heart racing as Miguel grew closer to you. His face only inches away as he held your hands so firmly. This was the look of a madman, but one you couldn't help but look away from. Melting into his touch, you started to think irrationally,

"Maybe...I can try and call her again...for you?" You offered. Miguel just smirked, stroking your cheek,

"Would you be a good girl and do that for me?"

Oh, you felt like turning into putty. You weren't sure if it was his sexy tone, or what he said, but you felt your panties get damp. You wanted Miguel to pin you to this desk and become a different kind of experiment for him.

Miguel just hummed in response as you scooted off his desk. You needed to leave before your mind got anymore hazy. You hurried to your office first, needing a moment to quickly relieve yourself. It drove you mad how much Miguel turned you on.

"How am I going to survive that health exam?" You whined.

---------

Miguel inhaled deeply as you left. Despite his struggle to entertain you, you were still falling into his trap. All Miguel had to do was twist his words for you to keep agreeing with him. For him to find moral reasons for you to want to agree with him.

However; you were proving to have an effect on Miguel. He wasn't exactly sure what was happening, but Miguel knew that he was starting to like your expressions. Those desperate, needy looks on your face whenever he draws near.

Excitement rose in his chest. It was disturbing since Miguel only found joy when tormenting a soul into his making. Then again, this was essentially the same thing. Miguel was just twisting you into being his perfect little pet.

Having you sit on his desk like a trophy was the first step.

Deciding to work on reports until you came back, Miguel felt somewhat bored. He had no experiments lined up and no you to corrupt. Miguel needed something to entertain him.

"Lyla, is that chemical we made a few months ago still have an effect to make people mad?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is our competition still planning on wooing the citizens of downtown Nueva York?"

"Yes, sir." Lyla responded. Miguel's devilish smirk returned,

"Perfect. It would be a shame if that chemical accidently leaked into their water supply. Whatever would our competitors do when they people attack them?"

"Already spreading the toxin. Aren't you worried about Spider-Woman going down there and saving them? (Y/N) might get hurt." Lyla explained. Miguel just scoffed,

"You doubt my power of words? I can get anyone to do what I please."

--------

You were hesitant. This was a bad idea. You knew that Miguel was always going to ask for more, but how could you say no? You weren't thinking straight when you told him that you'd get Spider-Woman. You were talking with your pussy heart. You were talking with your heart.

"Hello, I was told that you wanted to see me again," You said lowly, sticking outside Miguel's office window.

"Yes, please come in!"

"Um, I think I'll stay right here." You hesitated, perching against the window. Miguel's face twisted slightly,

"I won't ask for a blood sample, rather I just have some questions I wanted answered."

"Okay....just questions," You whispered, hesitating to enter.

You weren't afraid of what questions Miguel had, you were more afraid of telling him everything.

"Lyle, record mode." Miguel hummed before taking a seat before you, "Why don't we start with something simple? Such as, your abilities?"

"Ah, right. Well, for starters I can stick to any surface through my hands and feet. Um, I believe I have super human strength because the heaviest thing I lifted was a car-"

"All Public Eye members report, crowds of violent civilians are attacking-"

"Oh, I should go and help." You gasped, hearing your radio, "I'm sorry, I'll be-"

"Why?" Miguel questioned. You knew that look all too well, "Do you always have to rush head first into danger?"

"People need help-"

"But are they worth you sacrificing yourself all the time?" Miguel stood and pulled up security footage, "This is something small that the Public Eye can handle. You don't need to help every single person."

"But...as a hero, I should at least try-"

"To keep yourself healthy and safe." Miguel spat, sitting you back down, "If you handled every single problem, then where is the time for you? You're going to hurt yourself dealing with meager issues such as this."

"You're saying I should ignore people in need of help?" You felt your heart sink.

Not from Miguel's words, but from you wanting to agree with him. Lately, you've been so exhausted from helping every person you came by. You thought it was part of the hero life, but Miguel was making sense. You needed time for yourself.

"I'm saying, not everyone needs a Super Hero like yourself," Miguel whispered in your ear.

You hesitated, but eventually lowered the volume on your radio. You knew this wasn't the right thing, but it did make you feel better since Miguel was giving you the laydown.

"Now, please continue."

"Right! Stick to walls, super strength, oh, I have this like warning tingle for danger. Um, I can shoot webs from my wrist. Hm, my agility and stamina seems to have improved." You ranted before thinking about what else you could do.

"All units! I repeat, all units! New Super Villain threat appearing in uptown Nueva York!"

"Ah! This I really have to take!" You gasped, "Super villains now a days are no joke. Sorry I had to cut this short again, but I'll be back."

Before Miguel could say anything, you dashed right out the window. Hopefully, that would be enough information for Miguel to be please for now. Either way, you had a villain to stop!

-----------

Miguel roared in anger as he threw his chair across the room. Why? Why did fate have to go against him? You were being obedient! You were listening to him and answering his questions! Miguel wanted more! He needed more!

"Stamina, hm?" Miguel whispered to himself, attempting to calm down.

As he fixed his hair, Miguel has Lyla pull up a video of you from last night. Miguel needed to calm down until you came back. Leaning back in his seat as the windows dimmed, Miguel chuckled as he watched you lay in your bed, crying out his name.

"I question the stamina," He hummed as your fingers worked furiously, "If I were to make her mine, then the child would only have a fourth of perfect genes. It must be higher."

Unamused with the thought, Miguel continued to watch videos of you until his anger calmed down.

After two hours, you had finally returned to the office. Miguel was unamused as you entered, apologizing profusely. Your fight had taken too long, but Miguel couldn't say that. Patting his desk, Miguel watched as you slowly made your way, taking a seat.

"Good job on bringing me Spider-Woman," Miguel hummed, planting his face against your lap.

"Ah-"

"Hm?" Miguel raised a brow as he sat up, "What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing-"

"(Y/N), you know how I dislike lies." Miguel spat. You proceeded to whimper, causing him to sigh, "I won't get mad at you."

"It's not...that. When I was um, looking for Spider-Woman...this weird new villain appeared...and I got caught in the cross fire. M-my leg still hurts." You told him.

Miguel furrowed his brows, his chest tightening up. You were getting hurt while playing the hero! He could not have that! Rolling up your skirt slowly, Miguel searched for the wound. How could you be so reckless and get injured?

His trophy can't get hurt.

Rolling your stocking down, Miguel hissed at the suction cup marking on your legs. They were red, swollen and sore. Pulling out his first aid kit, Miguel was careful as he started to treat your wounds. He can't have you hurt. Not when you were going to bear his perfect advance human children.

"Ah! Migs, that stings," You whimpered, holding back tears. Miguel lazily glared up at you,

"Then stop getting hurt." He spat and noticed your tears, "Only I'm the one who can bring you pain."

"N-Now you're being mean," You cried as he worsen the pain from cleaning your wound, "I try my best."

"Well it isn't good enough," Miguel wrapped up your first scar and sighed heavily, "If you can't be safe alone, then ask for help."

Miguel knew that there weren't any other heroes around. Just you. He continued to treat your wounds, listening to you hiss and cry. He can't risk you getting hurt anymore. You needed to get off the streets, which meant someone else had to replace you.

Feeling an idea pop into his mind. Miguel felt his wicked smile return as he looked up at you.

"W-What?" You asked, rubbing your eyes. Miguel finished with your last wound and shot up,

"I'm a genius!" He roared in laughter before squishing your cheeks together, "You just gave me an idea. Go home and rest, we have a big, big day tomorrow,"

"Ah, okay...Thank you, Miguel." You whispered, fixing your skirt.

Miguel kept laughing to himself as he paced across his office. If you refused to stop being Spider-Woman, then that just meant that someone had to take your role. Someone who had the same abilities as you.

A Spider-Man, perhaps?

Miguel was going to have to play the waiting game on this. He needed to make a carbon copy of you, as him. Miguel couldn't afford to die on his own table. Not when he was going to rob you of your precious life and help him make the future of humans.

"(Y/N), my dear (Y/N), I'll make sure no one will cross our paths. Who needs a hero when I can trample over everyone as a Villain?"

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Next Chapter

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs @miss-galaxy-turtle @oscarissac2099 @lazy-idate @lauraolar14 @migueloharacumslut @straw-berry-ghoul @daisy-artfield @sukunash0e @undf-stuff @iamperson12280 @nightingale1011 @reader-1290 @mcmiracles @keepghostly

[elizabeethan]

Not With Haste

An Overboard Conclusion

Oh hi, where the hell did this come from? I'm wondering the same thing. in reality, @donteattheappleshook talked to me about oarfish maybe 2 years ago and I started writing something stupid. I always intended to finish it and post it for @the-darkdragonfly's birthday, but I never found it in me to complete it. Then tonight I found that stupid thing and I finished it. You never know when that funny little creativity bug might bite, I guess.

I've always wanted to write some form of conclusion for Overboard because it's one of my favorite things that I've written. I first published Overboard way back in May of 2021, and looking back, I've grown and learned a lot and there are things I would probably do differently if I started the story over again, but I can't see myself ever editing it because I love what I wrote. Would I rewrite it into a novel and really flesh out the story and the characters? A girlie can dream, never say never, you never know when the creativity bug might bite, etc.

I hope everyone here is well, I know I am for the most part, and I'll never stop being grateful for this little community that I found all those years ago. More than that, I'll never stop being grateful for the feeling of being able to come back after a time away. It's been fun to log back in to everything and pick up where I left off as if no time has passed. (It's been so long since I've done this so if the formatting is all messed up, I'm really sorry, but I barely knew what I was doing.)

Long story short, this story is finally complete. It's barely edited and it's not beta'd, so thank you for giving it a chance.

Rated T I think

~2300 words

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Even after sixteen years of marriage, Killian often finds himself wondering what on earth could possibly be going through his wife’s head. 

  The thoughts of wonderment and confusion strike him at the oddest of times, always in response to something she’s said or done and never with any sort of answer. The first time he knew he was in trouble was fifteen years ago, when he returned home from a trip to find she had adopted a rottweiler. Still, Ripple refuses to retire from her post as the Jones’ Harbor Tours’ mascot, and Emma often tries to convince him that it’s because she’s as stubborn as her father. 

  In truth, Emma Jones is the most stubborn person he has ever met in his life, a fact which will likely never be contested. 

  He finds himself confused so often that he can barely recount any examples of her free spirited nature. (She calls herself a wild child, although she often shouts at him whenever he uses the term in bed.) There was the time she impulsively began tearing up the tile flooring in the bathroom after watching three whole YouTube tutorials (her words), only to sob into his already sea-soaked sweater when she realized how physically taxing reflooring an entire room is without any experience, general tiling knowledge, materials, or help. Then there was the time she randomly asked him if he would still love her if she was a worm, and then became irrationally angry when he found himself unable to answer without first asking clarifying questions. And the incident when she questioned his loyalty to her when he refused to hunt down and kill the person who bumped into her parked car and drove off. He later discovered that the question came after she had finished some romance novel about the mafia. He chose not to dig any deeper into that one.

  All this to say: Killian’s wife is a free spirit, a wild child, a confusing, strange, barely-readable woman who stole his heart in one breath and has yet to give it back almost two decades later. 

  And, he has no idea what the bloody hell she’s talking about more than half the time. 

  He wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): have you ever see this??? In the wild??????

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: What are you doing?

  He shakes his head, as exasperated as he is filled with a warm sense of comfort, just like he always is whenever he sees the name she gave herself the moment their vows were exchanged pop onto his phone screen.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): they inhabit the atlantic ocean. *vomiting emoji*

  Killian: Stop watching National Geographic if it’s going to make you nauseous. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): that’s where you worked!!

  Killian: That’s also where we live.

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you never saw one in your sexy fisherman days? LOOK at that thing. 

  Killian quickly discovers that she’s referring to an Oarfish. They’re the longest known bonefish and inhabit very deep water, are rarely seen or caught alive, and are thought to be generally harmless. Still, he knows that these facts will not prevent his wife from overreacting, so he chooses not to bother. 

  Though she’s always hidden it well, Emma has a strange fear of creatures of the deep, as she often calls them. She’s told him that the tuna he used to pull onto the deck of his boat didn’t bother her– even though they were often almost twice her height in length and weighed upwards of 1,000 pounds– because they were no longer in the water. But the thought of running into one of those slimy bastards while swimming gives her panicky symptoms— her words. He hasn’t bothered to point out the absolute impossibility of her ever running into a giant bluefin tuna while swimming, either. After sixteen years of marriage, he’s learned which battles are better left unfought. 

  Of course, there are times when his correcting her drives her absolutely mad, often to the point of her feeling compelled to kiss him in order to shut him up, and he navigates those moments very carefully and with a smirk on his lips. 

  Killian: They aren’t known to be predatory.

  Emma (Trophy Wife) disliked “They aren’t known to be predatory.”

  Killian: Attached: 1 Image

  Killian: You see? They have small mouths and no teeth. Harmless.

  It’s unlike her to wait so long to reply, as she’s often glued to her phone at least when she’s mid conversation. But it’s almost a full two minutes that he finds himself standing in front of the display of pasta sauce, looking like a complete fool and blocking the path of an elderly woman, breath bated as he waits for a response from her. Bloody hell, he thinks to himself as he shakes his head. He’s known the woman for eighteen years and he still can hardly breathe in anticipation of whatever adorably inane thought leaves her mouth without any sort of filter. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): Attached: 1 Video

  Lovely. Even as he watches the attached video of her silently dry heaving, he’s desperately in love with her. He watches it again. 

  Her blonde hair has gone lighter over the years, streaks of white coloring through the gold in a way that makes her look somehow even more sexy and playful than when he first laid eyes on her. There are soft creases beside her eyes as she squeezes them shut, her mouth open and her tongue out as she pretends to be so violently offended by the image he sent her that it’s made her ill. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): expect consequences when you get home. even if you get the good mac and cheese. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): you KNOW how i feel about serpents and sea monsters. 

  Killian: I do. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): … and????

  Killian: I’m sorry for traumatizing you with my serpent. 

  Killian: And for how that just sounded. 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): if you’re not home in 34 minutes i’m not touching your serpent for two whole days. 

  Killian: Well, now that I'm familiar with your gag reflex… 

  Emma (Trophy Wife): 33 minutes. 

  ~~~~

  Ripple is the oldest dog Killian has ever known. Her silver snout and eyebrows catch in the setting sun, and it’s painfully obvious from her gait how sore her joints are, but still, at his arrival home, she hurries her way towards him with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. 

  Their vet has told them that she’s the healthiest dog he’s treated in a while, considering her age, and Emma uses that as a point of pride for their perfect child. 

  ��Hi, darling,” he says when she finally reaches him, her soft smile lighting up her face once he drops the reusable grocery bags in order to give her a scratch behind the ears. Killian’s getting up there in age, too, but he still manages to squat down to her level and kiss her nose.��

  The two of them make quite the pair while Killian struggles back into a standing position and then they both hobble towards the front door. His fishing career was lucrative and rewarding, but dammit if it didn’t lead to stiff joints that his wife pokes fun at. She’s never met a “my husband is older than me” joke she hasn’t loved. 

  “I’m glad you both made it,” she happily chortles from the kitchen, making him smile. He’s never smiled more widely than he does with Emma. 

  “The abuse I’m subjected to,” he mutters as he drops the bags on the floor for her to peruse. It’s a deal they made years ago; Killian does the shopping because the grocery store makes Emma too itchy, and she puts the groceries away in exchange. 

  She snorts when she pulls out the bag of goldfish, sending Killian a playful smirk. “Looks like a good haul.”

  “Aye, love. I thought you might enjoy a fishy treat after our conversation.”

  “Always so thoughtful,” she murmurs as she makes her way to him. The kitchen is small, but they’ve always had just enough space for the three of them. 

  “It’s a difficult cross to bear,” he nods, catching her wrist as soon as she’s close enough to pull towards him. “But anticipating your needs is one of the many responsibilities I take very seriously.”

  Emma’s hands land on his neck, fingers tangling with the silver hair at the back of his head while her thumbs trace along his jaw. She likes to call him a silver fox when she’s feeling playful. “My perfect husband,” she says softly, voice syrupy sweet in that way that still manages to get him excited. 

  “I couldn’t be a perfect husband without my perfect wife,” he answers, earning a beaming grin that he barely catches before her lips press to his. 

  It never ends. The way he wants her has been an inferno so intense since the day they met, and it hasn’t been snuffed out in all these years. The moment she’s near him, his blood starts to simmer, and once she touches him, kisses him like she is now, he’s a goner. 

  Her tongue is soft as it sweeps over the seam of his lips, lazily working to deepen the kiss they share. She kissed him with urgency, but not with haste, never rushing but always desperate. It’s enough to have him pushing her backwards, her lower back softly pressing against the counter before he lifts her onto it. Emma’s legs part seemingly without her even thinking about it, and before either of them have a chance to put the rotisserie chicken in the refrigerator, he wonders if he should just carry her to their room. Part of him has this never ending need to show her just how desperate he still is for her. 

  But then, she speaks. 

  “Wait,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly as her warm breath fans over his mouth, her forehead still pressed to his and her fingers clinging to the collar of the light sweater he wears. 

  “Yes, love?” he asks, perfectly prepared to answer whatever silly question she likely has as long as he can have her after. 

  “About the oarfish…”

  He fights a groan. “I promise you, there is absolutely no chance of you ever seeing an oarfish for as long as you live.”

  “I know, I did plenty of research while you were gone.”

  He breathes out a soft laugh, his smile growing when she kisses it. “What’s wrong, then?”

  “Would you still love me if I was an oarfish?”

  His world stops for just a moment. Just a second, really, as he tries to right his mind and will a tiny bit of blood back to his brain so that he can answer this very unimportant and yet somehow very vital question correctly. 

  “If you were an oarfish,” he starts, hand sliding up from her hip to her ribs before finding her cheek, “then I would be an oarfish. And we would be married and have a pet… eel, perhaps. Named Ripple. And we would live in a tiny oarfish cottage and be happy and in love for as long as oarfish live.”

  Emma sighs, the softest smile on her perfect lips making him crazy as her arms wrap around his neck in one of his favorite hugs. 

  “I love you,” she whispers into his ear. He’ll never tire of this. Of the soft, almost unfathomable way that the love they have for one another strikes at the most random times. 

  “I love you, too, Swan. Always. No matter what species we are.”  

  “And I love you, no matter how much older you are than me.”

  He grabs her then, hoisting her against him to the best of his ability as her ankles cross at his back. “Disrespectful,” he murmurs, carrying her from the kitchen and happily forgetting about the frozen broccoli florets, not cuts she made him buy. 

  “You better teach me a lesson, then,” she taunts with a smirk, as if that isn’t exactly what she was after. 

  “Don’t act like that isn’t exactly what you want, love.”

  “Don’t act like you don’t get off on giving me exactly what I want.”

  To that, he just returns her smirk and offers a quick smack to her ass before dropping her onto the bed they share, because he knows she’s right. For the rest of his days, he’ll be happy, as long as he has his family. 

~~~~

I'm using my old tag list from 2 years ago. If you don't want to be tagged, I'm real sorry and let me know if I should remove you

@kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones-blog @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @winterbaby89 ​@ultraluckycatnd @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @pirateprincessofpizza @killianslefthook

[the-orion-inexpirience]

People talking about WCI but with transfem/genderqueer/genderfluid Sanji makes me physically ill because it's actually much more painful and it makes me SOOO upset thinking abt it cause if i try to put myself in his shoes as sb who's genderqueer/nonbinary it would actually be my personal hell

Cause like me personally, I use the non-binary label bc it feels right for me, but genderqueer is actually closer to what i am. I don't mind what pronouns people use for me unless they're doing it deliberately to be an asshole

It's my own stubbornness more than anything, i hate being put into boxes and i sometimes get irrationally angry when people assume shit about me without knowing me.

And i think Sanji is the same/similar to this w her gender identity (bc projection)

So when they take a single step into that arc and she's being told what to do and what to wear and how to act (by people who haven't given a single shit about them their entire life) bc otherwise his actual friends and family die btw-

Aughh im so upset i might actually throw up augh- I just love Sanji so much you guys..

[wetcatspellcaster]

I don’t know if this was asked previously so I apologize if that’s the case, but what was your inspiration for Rosalie? Including her character, class, backstory etc.

Hey anon!

I have answered variations of this before, but I'm always happy to talk about my girl!

The inspiration for Divination Wizard is that it's my favourite D&D subclass, along with Divine Soul Sorcerer 😅

Her character and backstory did not have a specific inspiration, but it did have some clear influences! I've described Rose as an "immune response" before, and it's my best analogy so I'll repeat it here. She was made, in response to other characters I'd encountered. And lord, those characters made me want to double down, HARD.

I had just played a Curse of Strahd game with a bunch of edgelords in the pandemic. Now, people not wanting to play Lawful Good in a campaign is obviously not a problem, and being an edgelord is not a crime, but it was a poorly managed game without a session 0, so a lot of people were at cross purposes, and it made wanting to be good-aligned pretty stressful. I could've been less stubborn about it, but I was wanting to save the world.... in 2020. I didn't understand why this wasn't everyone's power fantasy... in 2020. So we can see why I clung to it till the bitter end. Which is absolutely on me and I'll never pretend otherwise, but the game was also high stakes, so understandably (and irrationally, I quit the game in the end when I realised how silly it was getting) I got anxious every time more obstacles to this presented itself.

And then I got BG3, in early access. Rosalie is very informed by the EA characterisation of the companions. I loved them, but the jokes at the time were that you get bullied for being a nice person - by everyone, not just Astarion (Wyll, you were always a real one). It was very reminiscent of the stress I felt in the game outlined above. It made me feel like "why am I doing this, for fun? why does being good matter to me so much in my silly imaginary world?" I kind of wish Larian had stuck with that vision, bc it led me to think about what kind of person would persist with being nice and doing the right thing in that environment where all your friends are judging you for it... and I realised, it was someone who flat out didn't care what other people thought about them. And thus Rosalie, and a new power fantasy of No Social Anxiety, was born!

As for the agoraphobia - I then took that 'No Anxiety' prompt to an extreme that would give me an interesting story. I met two people in the pandemic who were or had been agoraphobic, and given that it was 2020 and everyone was inside and scared, it was something that fascinated me and that I could also relate to. I am not agoraphobic, but it has since been pointed out to me that I made an OC immune to her mental illness during a period of intense and scary change, when I had a mental illness, during a period of intense and scary change. So I guess that's another inspiration, that I only unpacked afterwards... in fact, I only really unpacked it when I returned to writing her last year, when I'm in recovery and she isn't, and I realised with hindsight what parts of myself I'd put in there.

This is why I don't see Rosalie as a self-insert, but a power fantasy! I will never be her, bc my mental state will never have a magical cure, and I don't think I'll ever be effortlessly nice or fearless. But that's certainly something it's fun to imagine and explore!

[corpse-a-diem]

Do You Believe In Magic? | Van & Erin

TIMING: Sometime in March PARTIES: Van ( @vanoincidence ) & Erin (@corpse-a-diem) LOCATION: Nichols' Funeral Home SUMMARY: Van stops by the funeral home, catching Erin arguing with a persistent ghost. CONTENT WARNINGS: parental death tw

“Miss–Miss!”

The timid but determined voice of the frail woman in Erin’s backyard continued to follow her, despite her very clear attempts to ignore it. There were few moments it felt like she had alone anymore, and as a woman who treasured her solitude, it was making her skin itch and her mind frizz with agitation. But still, the woman persisted. “Miss Nichols! I know you can hear me!”

A heavy sigh fell from Erin’s lips and she paused, realizing that the weeding in the back garden was going to be prolonged even further now. Glancing over her shoulder, Erin saw the feeble looking woman, hands clutching one another in front of her tightly. There was a slight hunch to her stance, making her seem even shorter than she already was and naturally watery eyes were hard locked onto the younger woman. “I can hear you, Helen,” she answered finally, exasperation in her voice, and she wondered if Helen was as stubborn in life as she was now. It would have been commendable if she hadn’t been so behind on even the little chores she needed to take care of around the house. “I told you, I will look for that book for you tomorrow. I have things I need to do today.” And if she stopped and took care of every little thing a new ghost that came to her with, her own life would cease to exist. The volume of them lately was almost overwhelming and she had to wonder if it had anything to do with her slow acceptance. 

Helen wasn’t pleased with this answer, even less so when Erin turned back to freeing the weeds from the cold earth. She was cold and tired and this was already weeks out from when she wanted to begin. “You don’t understand! I need this book. It has–”

“It has to wait, Helen–” she started again, dropping her gloves and standing up properly to face her. As much as she could. Erin had over half a foot on the woman. “I am going to help you. You just have to give me–”

The rage that flashed across Helen’s face was fast and brutal and before Erin was able to react, the small towel in her grip flew out of her hand, hovering just in front of her threateningly. “Really?” she pleaded, and as frightening as this would have been a few months ago, she knew Helen had no real violent intentions. She was pretty sure. She reached for the towel and the woman made it move again, just out of reach. “Helen! Enough!”

–

After what had happened with Emilio, Van felt like she had a new lease on life. Maybe that was the wrong way of looking at it. She was more aware. Maybe that wasn’t right either, because she was still turning a blind eye to certain things– the kinds of things that she knew would keep her up at night, such as were my parents’ deaths supernatural in nature? She couldn’t be sure, but she figured beating around the question and picking Erin’s brain about what she remembered couldn’t hurt. 

Except, when she arrived at Erin’s, she saw her talking to… nothing? Erin looked angry, and suddenly, a towel was being suspended in the air. Van stared ahead, jaw slackening slightly as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Hadn’t she agreed that nothing had to make sense? That some things were just… the way they were, especially here? 

But Erin? Erin, with abilities? Erin, a magic user? Was that what this was? Would she have kept it from her for so long? Had her grandmother known? Was it why she pushed Erin to keep an eye on her, as if it were some kind of thing? Like a magician’s teacher or some shit? Van became irrationally angry as she charged forward. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but how could Erin keep this from her? It was so unfair! 

“Erin!” Though she tried to be loud, her voice came out strained and uncertain, so she cleared her throat. “What–” The towel dropped to the ground almost comically and she looked over at the woman ahead of her. “How did you do that?” 

–

Van’s voice wasn’t the loudest presence in her yard but it jolted through Erin like hot iron all the same. Shit. Shit. She saw the younger girl charging forward and panicked, leaning down and grabbing the towel, holding it behind her. Like that’d help. Like if Van no longer saw the towel, she’d have nothing to yell about. But she didn’t know what else to do. Maybe Van hadn’t seen it at all and was about to yell at her for something completely unrelated. That hope only held out for a few seconds. She glanced over to see Helen still standing there, still annoyed but clearly interested in the debacle Erin suddenly found herself in. “Angry little thing, isn’t she?” Erin glared when she heard a small chuckle. Why Van was angry was a little peculiar though, she suddenly realized. 

“Do what?” Erin echoed immediately, squeezing the towel anxiously. She held it in front of her, narrowing her eyes. She was going to have to tell Van something, right? She could lie–gaslight her. Tell her she was seeing things. That thought lasted about a second. No. Absolutely not. But she wasn’t sure if she was ready to talk about this to the younger woman. “The–uh, the towel? That’s uh–” God, she was stammering and she took a breath before finally meeting Van’s eyes. “That wasn’t me.” Not a complete lie but not the whole truth either. 

–

“Do that!” Van was completely ignorant to the ghostly figure that stood between them, and her finger pushed through the air, directed at the very towel she’d first referenced. Erin looked panicked which didn’t really seem like her. Sometimes Erin got anxious, Van could tell that much, but panicked? She was an adult, usually cool, calm, and collected. Van wasn’t exactly the observant type, but she could see that Erin was working through what to tell her. Like that mattered, because Van had already seen for herself. 

That wasn’t me. 

“Bull! I saw the towel. You did that!” She grabbed the towel off of the ground and shoved it towards Erin. “Do it again. I want to see it.” She stared at Erin, hopeful that the woman standing across from her wouldn’t continue lying to her. The last thing that Van needed was to be lied to, especially about something like this. It seemed so silly, all things considered, but deep down, Van felt that if Erin were something like her, then maybe Erin would hate her a little less once she inevitably found out about the magic that she had. She thought very briefly about Emilio and her stomach twisted. It was only a matter of time before he decided to blab his mouth to everyone– he seemed like a gossip, anyway. 

– 

Fear bubbled in Erin’s stomach, rising to her chest, making it hard to ignore the pounding of her own heart. She had to tell Van the truth. Right? But what would she think? Would she even believe her? Especially if she thought that this was Erin doing the metaphysical work and not Helen. Helen, who Van couldn’t see or speak to, who she would have to convince was real. Years and years of being told that she was hallucinating, of no one believing her, of being told she was crazy or that there was something wrong with her hurled their way back into her mind, stunting most thoughts temporarily. But this was Van. This would be different. Surely, it would. Erin took the towel back wordlessly, knowing she was probably going to disappoint Van either way. “It wasn’t me, Van,” she repeated, glancing back to the elderly ghost eavesdropping on their conversation with more amusement than she appreciated. 

“Oh, don’t mind me, dear. I can wait for that book for a few more minutes.”

Erin glared wordlessly at the mischievous smirk following Helen’s words before turning back to Van. She was gripping the towel for dear life at this point. “It really wasn’t. I’m not lying to you. It was–” her throat dried suddenly so she pointed to the space next to Van. “It was Helen. She’s mad I haven’t stopped my entire life to fetch some book for her and she threw this around in a little hissy fit even though I told her I’d get it later.”

“Well, I never–”

Erin continued, ignoring the older woman, though she found it impossible to meet Van’s eyes. “Helen is also dead.”

–

Erin looked to be going through some sort of internal struggle– one that matched the one Van was going through. It was a funny thing, to know somebody for so long, but not actually know them at all. They were allowed to keep their secrets and Van knew that– knew it was important to create boundaries, but what if Erin was like her? 

But Erin continued to protest that it wasn’t her, and continued to lie. She wasn’t even sure levitation magic was a thing. Obviously it would be, it was in Charmed, wasn’t it? Van opened her mouth to tell Erin not to lie to her, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. 

But before she could say anything, Erin was explaining that somebody named Helen was doing it. Helen, who was not in front of either of them. About a book, and Van looked around, tried to see the book in question, but came up empty handed. She looked back over to Erin, then to the space surrounding them, as if searching for something. 

Helen is also dead. 

“You see dead people?” Van said it before she could stop it and she blinked at the woman across from her. Nora was a bugbear, there was a ghoul that had hunted her and Emilio, and she had magic– surely Erin seeing dead people made sense, right? “I–” She paused for a moment, brows knitting together, “is… is that like some kind of magic?” Because it had to be, for Van’s own sanity. There had to be some kind of common link between them. “I totally– I um, I do believe you, but–” Her anger faded and was replaced by a new kind of anxiety. What if Erin could see Debbie? What if Debbie told her everything? “Is Helen the only one you see?” 

–

Erin watched Van look around for something she knew she wouldn’t be able to see. Could feel the nerves prickling more than ever before. This was it. This was where Erin went from ‘trusted authority figure’ in Van’s eyes to ‘lying madwoman’. But that’s not what happened. And Erin stood gaping embarrassingly for a moment as Van seemed to just… accept it. She saw dead people. She believed her. “You believe me?” She asked without even thinking. No doctor or therapist she’d ever seen in her life had believed her but this mind boggling 20 year old just accepted it as truth. To say she was suspicious but relieved was an understatement. 

“I don’t know,” Erin answered earnestly. Magic. That felt… wrong. This wasn’t some sideshow trick or Criss Angel special. This was real life. Real people were affected by this. “It’s just something I’ve always been able to do. I can’t explain it. I wish I could, though, trust me.” Van’s next question was unexpected but she answered it anyway. She was already this far in. Couldn’t go back now. “I can see lots of people. Not everyone turns into a–you know. Ghost. But the ones that do, I can see and talk to.” Her brow raised slowly as she glanced at the younger woman again, unsure. “Why?” Was there someone Van wanted to talk to? The idea of disappointing her, of having to tell her that her parents had never come to Erin, sat heavy in her gut.

–

“I think so,” Van admitted. There was a sincerity in her expression– the kind she wished she’d been met with when her grandmother had pointed her down, asking what she was going through. Had her grandmother known what was happening the entire time? Had she known about Erin being able to see dead people? Van wanted to ask, but she kept the question held back, deciding that later would be a better time. Erin seeing dead people wasn’t as weird as watching her best friend turn into a bear and she knew it, and even if this was something new and scary she had learned about somebody she knew for more than half of her life, it was something she needed to accept, because it wasn’t like she was normal either. At least, not in the grand scheme of things. 

Erin went on to explain that she didn’t think it was magic and Van couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Maybe she had hoped that like Milo, there’d be a world opening up at her feet– that she’d learn from somebody she knew and trusted, but it seemed like Erin was doubtful. That made Van wonder if she should even divulge her own abilities. “Not… everyone…” She nodded, grateful that it seemed like maybe Debbie hadn’t come to actually haunt them. Wouldn’t she feel it? Wouldn’t cabinet doors get closed on her fingers or something, like in the movies? “Okay, so you only see… some dead people.” Maybe Erin would think she was asking about her parents. That wasn’t that great either, but maybe it would make for a sob story rather than making Erin the person to solve a crime. Though, was it a crime? Nobody had come looking for Debbie, which, she had to admit– that was a little strange on its own.

“So you’re like that Bruce Willis guy, right?” 

–

Van thinking she believed her was better than outright rejection, Erin supposed. She felt like she was still unsure, though, which was… understandable, at the very least. It’d taken Erin this long to believe it herself. She wasn’t sure what was going on in Van’s head, if she was being truthful. She seemed to be trying to absorb the information the best that she could but the uncertainty wasn’t helping Erin feel much better about it either. Maybe she needed to give her more? Opening up to people was hard. It was impossible when it came to this. But for Van, she could try. “I am sorry. That I never told you. I, uh–I winded up spending the better half of my childhood in psychiatrist offices so I’ve made it a point not to tell anyone. Ever. ” Her eyes fell back onto Helen's still figure beside them, who she really wished would leave right about now. Especially after the pitiful look she gave her following that confession. She glared, again, and wrung the dry towel in her hands. 

She nodded. “I guess not everyone sticks around after they die. I definitely don’t know how that part works. Only that it depends on the person.” Bruce Willis? The question threw her for just a second before her whole body sagged and she rolled her eyes. “Bruce Willis was the ghost in that movie. I’m like… the kid. The little snotty one that’s always crying.”

Her brows narrowed and she looked up at Van again when a thought struck her suddenly. “You were mad when you came running up here. Why were you mad? Confused, I’d understand. Scared, even. But… mad?”

–

It wasn’t lost on Van that Erin seemed surprised to be believed. If she could reveal half of the things she’d seen in the past few months— or really, the past several years, then she was almost sure Erin wouldn’t believe her. How did she explain that her best friend was a bear, or that the woman whose apartment she was living in had wings? She had promised on both accounts, regardless of it being internally, that she’d never tell anyone about what she’d seen. Erin didn’t seem like an exception here, no matter how much Van trusted her. They weren’t her secrets to tell, and how would she tell if somebody had told Erin about her magic before she had? Though, she still wondered if her grandma had hinted at knowing something, or if her grandma knew anything at all. 

Erin apologized and Van felt guilty. She knew what it was like to want to keep things to herself, especially the kinds of things that could make people look at you differently… but then again, people had been looking at her differently her whole life. What would be one more person? 

“I get why you didn’t tell me.” Logistically, it made sense. Emotionally, Van felt a little betrayed. 

Only that it depends on the person. 

Maybe they’d given Debbie some kind of relief from her life. Maybe her anger had been what caused her to try and kill all of them. Van liked the thought of that, even if she didn’t think it was true. 

“I’ve never seen the movie, I just know it’s a meme.” That was how she knew most media, to be fair. If she felt the urge to figure out the depths of said meme, she would, but she didn’t figure a movie about dead people was really in her wheelhouse, no matter the amount of dead people she had haunting her— visible or not. 

At Erin’s question, Van felt her stomach sink. She wrung her hands together, looking anywhere but at Erin. “I— I thought you’d been lying to me about something, like you knew something and you weren’t telling me, and then I thought…” She took a deep breath and shook her head, “I just got mad because I thought that…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, the words were stuck in her throat. “I can shoot … well, not lasers, I dunhavelasersbuticanmeltthingsiwthmymind….” The words came out in a jumble, and she wasn’t even sure if Erin would be able to figure out what she said. The truth split between them– Erin’s truth already hanging in the balance. How would she react to magic? Van wasn’t sure if the older woman would even believe her, but she hoped she would. It’d do some good at confirming if her grandmother knew anything at all, either. 

–

The air felt stilted and rigid on Erin’s skin, despite the relief of finally unloading this truth onto someone who wasn’t dead, or spoke to the dead, or her mother. Navigating her relationship with Van had never been smooth. The kid had been dealt some rough cards and there were tragedies behind her eyes Erin knew she’d never be able to understand. And for whatever reason, she’d seemed to like Erin. She’d grown fond of the quirky, sad girl who followed her around graveyards sometimes and would talk about the most nonsensical things Erin had ever heard. She deserved better than her only family left abandoning her and she questioned now, even if it was her secret to keep, that keeping it from Van felt like another betrayal.

Her eyes worried over Van as she seemed just as nervous as Erin had been just a few minutes ago. A muddle of words spewed out almost too fast for her to understand. Lasers–melt–mind was about all she caught. “You have lasers–I mean, not lasers–but you can… melt… stuff?”

Erin heard how ridiculous it sounded as she repeated what she could but she tried to give Van the benefit of the doubt, even if this felt like another one of Van’s off the wall comments. And for a moment, the confusion tipped towards anger until something suddenly clicked. She paused for a long moment before blurting out a question Van had never actually answered. “The table.”

–

“The table,” Van whispered, gathering her hands against herself, pads of her fingers pushing into her stomach as if to dispel the anxiety she was feeling. She looked up at Erin, eyebrows furrowed. She tried to remember if Erin’s expression matched her grandmother’s on the day she’d left. If her grandmother had looked at her this way– though, at the time, Van didn’t know if the older woman had suspected a thing… Now, looking back at it, Van had to believe that the knowledge of what she was capable of had been there all along, and it had been fear that drove her grandma out of Wicked’s Rest. 

But Erin wasn’t running, and she was standing in front of her still. “It’s– um, it’s magic.” She almost choked on the word, could feel it lacerating her throat. It still felt foreign to say, felt wrong in a way, because how could somebody as simple as her be given something like magic. 

Van chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked up at Erin expectantly, waiting for the other true to drop.

–

“...Magic.” Erin repeated the word, slowly, like it was a foreign concept. Which, in all fairness, it was. 

“Magic. Ha! Don’t tell me you actually believe that, dearie.” Helen chortled, looking at the two of them like they were crazy. Helen, the ghost. 

“Oh for pete’s sake, Helen, I told youErin glared at her before reaching into her pocket. She didn’t like doing this and only did it when it was really necessary–and Erin considered this to be one of those times. This moment was fragile as it was without a nosy ghost commenting on the side. Van deserved her full attention. 

“Oh, not again, I’m sorry! I’ll–” Helen instantly knew what was happening as soon as the salt packet came out. The ghost dispersed into silence as the salt flew threw her, leaving the air around them finally still. She’d be back–she always came back–and Lil had told her it didn’t hurt them, which helped with the guilt she always had when it came to this. 

Erin turned back to Van, relieved and fully attentive once more. “Magic. Alright.” She nodded vigorously, like she was trying to rationalize it in her head, but inching steadfast towards acceptance, even if it felt a little overwhelming. “Yeah. Okay. You can do magic. I can see ghosts. That’s… that’s a thing.” A small smile crept up her cheeks despite herself. She didn’t know what else to do. “ You’re weird too. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

–

Van waited for the other shoe to drop– for Erin to turn in disbelief, to laugh in her face. To do something other than approach her with any kind of kindness. This felt wrong, to tell Erin– to tell somebody within close proximity of her grandmother, but Van wanted to believe that the older woman wouldn’t run off and tell her grandma of what had been happening here. She hoped not, anyway. 

Erin was speaking again, only it didn’t seem like it was to her. Van watched as she dug into her pocket, surprised to see salt. It littered the ground, and confusion wrote itself across her features as she looked back up to meet Erin’s gaze. What was that about? Was it about the ghost stuff? Probably. Yeah. Erin wouldn’t throw salt at her. 

Van could tell that Erin was trying to rationalize what was being said to her– she saw this expression on most of the people she spoke to, whether it was actually about magic or not. She bit the inside of her cheek as she watched Erin’s expression change. 

You’re weird too. I knew there was a reason I liked you. 

She felt frozen, suspended in the air by the mere idea she might be punished for coming clean. Part of her had expected disbelief to take form on Erin’s features, but instead, she was met with something kinder. “I– um…” Van fiddled with a loose string on her sleeve, embarrassment cascading over the bridge of her nose in a blush. “Yeah, I’m like– we’re um, super weird. Definitely.” It felt odd to not be laughed at or yelled at by an adult, or to be looked at with an expression that begged what the fuck are you talking about. 

This was new, and it was different, and for the first time in awhile, Van felt hope. 

“Um… but… yeah, you uh, see ghosts– oh– do you… see my parents?” Maybe not the right thing to ask. Van rose her hands in defense, “you don’t need to like, answer that!” 

–

Erin knew her face would answer Van’s question before she could disappoint her with her answer. Her smile slipped away and she shook her head. “No. I haven’t seen them,” she answered quietly, wishing she could give her something. Their funeral had been uneventful, she remembered, as far as most funerals went. Closed casket. The physical damage they’d endured from the fire had been too much for Erin to fix and she didn’t dare ask her father, not that he could have done much either–her parents had lost good friends that day too. So Erin stepped in and took the lead on that one. She couldn’t remember any ghosts, or hallucinations as she knew them then, but she did remember Van. Only fifteen, lost and grieving more than anyone should at that age. 

“...But that’s a good thing,” she added, a tinge of hopefulness in her voice. If they had come back, Erin would have seen them. She was sure of it.“I-I know it might not seem like it but it is good because it means they probably moved on. That’s what’s supposed to happen. Being a ghost is just…–it’s just pain. It’s a painful, lonely existence. It’s good that they weren’t stuck here, lost, trying to settle unfinished business or watch their lives move on without them.” Like her father. Like Helen. Guilt clawed at her insides. She’d also save Van the details of how her parents would have had to co-exist, together but alone, staring at the charred remains of their partner until they moved on too. “You don’t want them to be ghosts. Even if you might think you do.”

-

Maybe it was because she’d done some growing up that Van felt glad Erin couldn’t see her parents. The little girl who had lost them at fifteen might have begged for Erin to reconsider– might have even pulled her to where they were buried to see if they might have been hanging around. But the twenty year old Van simply nodded, taking Erin’s answer for what it actually was. 

“No, I–” Van took a deep breath and attempted a smile, though it fell a little short. “I think it’s um, a good thing, yeah.” The idea that being dead could be painful, even after the fact– how miserable of an existence was that? Van was afraid of death for good reason, and talking to Erin now about how remaining a ghostly apparition of oneself would only prolong that hurt did nothing to quell that fear. But that wasn’t the point here. The point was that her parents weren’t experiencing it. Would they look the same to her if they had? Would they exist as they had done so beneath the flames? Van tried her best to push them from her mind as Erin continued and she gave a firmer nod this time, “no, you’re right… I don’t want them to be here. I was just curious, and I wasn’t sure how your um, ghost senses worked, you know?” There were so many different ways that people interpreted those who could see ghosts across the board, but nothing was ever as it seemed, it appeared. “Thanks for being honest, Erin, about um, all of this.” 

-

Van seemed… okay. More okay than what Erin’s fears were conjuring up after answering her question and miles better than the angry, betrayed storm that had trampled through her yard earlier. It made sense now. “Hey, no–thank you. For believing me. And for trusting me too.” The picture of the melted table flashed in Erin’s mind again, this time with Van at the helm. Van had magic. Magic existed. She supposed even if she couldn’t comprehend what that meant right now, it shouldn’t have felt as surreal as it did. It connected more things in her mind than it broke. It made sense. And that’s what terrified her. There was absolutely no pretending she had any idea what she was doing anymore.

“Are you hungry?” She asked suddenly, pulling herself out of the spiral she felt herself slipping down. This had been a lot for the both of them and she was sure Van needed a break as much as she did. “I’ve got some of those dinosaur nuggets you like.” She nodded approvingly of her own idea, ready to focus on something small and silly. “I think I’ll have some too.”

[genuflectx]

It's been a year since this comic and seven months since I started playing VRChat regularly. This is a bit of a follow up that's been on the mind for a while now.

Even though the prior comic was a way for me to remind myself that no, I'm not just some angry person who can't communicate, I've still obviously internalized a lot of the pain that's come from being interpreted like that. Even today, she still interprets even the smallest soft-spoken disagreement between myself and my now wife as being some sort of huge blow out argument that will rip the house apart.

I know it stems from her own previous family trauma, and that hurt people hurt people, but I think our clashing problems and ways of living have just worn down on all of us over time by being housemates. It's incredibly sad to me having someone go from feeling like a friend, talking about deep things, and going through major events together, to how avoidant we are of each other today because we just haven't meshed in a very long time.

I can be judgmental, and stubborn, and have mean thoughts, but through making new friends I'm reminded I can also be kind, and tolerant, and accommodating of differences and needs. Just because I don't get along with someone, and that someone sees me as one thing, doesn't mean that it's true or that its the only perception of me. I can be the person who gets irrationally annoyed when I think someone is doing something dumb and I can also be the person who wants to give hugs and tell my kid friends to be kinder to themselves and that I care about them getting enough sleep.

I guess this is also a glance at how VRC has been going for me, seven months deep and almost 300 hours in. When I first started playing and stopped being mute, actually making acquaintances and then more regular friends, I suppose I was surprised how everyone looked at me like I'm an angel. It was a stark difference to how bad I had been feeling about my personality after being cooped up in this house with the same people for years. Maybe I do have bad or just generally annoying (but not morally wrong) traits, but even so, these traits aren't nearly as all-encompassing or as strongly seen as I thought they were.

People actually do like me, either for my personality or in spite of some of my annoyances. After everything, I think I am still trying to re-learn this, and often still doubt myself. Not being able to turn your brain off may be great for keeping yourself in check, but sometimes I wish it would just give it a rest and let me be me. I wonder if I mask more than I think I do, even though I know I mask a lot less in VRC than out in the real world (sans in front of my wife).

That's really it. I hope I can keep being kinder to myself.

[caelanglang]

ive noticed that everyone seems obsessed with fem skk and all that so allow this ask to be a breather. im gonna tell u about my newest bsd fanfic idea!!! i mean, i have other ppl to tell it to as well but they're not invested into bsd like i am. this is more or less a small passionate rant from an author so there's rlly no need to make this into one of ur inbox sketches or anything like that but i don't mind it if u do lmao

ok ok so i LOVE pretty much any humanoid creatures who primarily prey on humans (vampires, zombies, etc.) and now ive been thinking about the possibility of a zombie apocalypse au that's kinda kunikidazai based in which kunikida and dazai were separated from the rest of the ADA but still use their office as a shelter in hopes that they'll find their way back and be reunited. everything is normal up until dazai literally dies from blood loss after being attacked by zombies and kunikida, unable to simply toss his coworker's corpse into the ocean or smth even though he KNOWS he's gonna turn, decides to bring him back to their shelter and barricade him into a spare room. the next day, he wakes up to a now zombified dazai growling and scratching at the door, trying to get out. at this point, it's like a rlly good delve into his ideals and morals, and how far he'll go just to ensure that no one he cares about gets hurt/killed + it gives him a moment of irrationality in his otherwise logical mind. he should've gotten rid of his body, he should've left him behind and not have brought a massive burden on himself but he CARES!! it's evident he does even in canon in one of the light novels so i need to make more content for that.

anyways, days pass. he feeds dazai raw meat from his own rations, believing that it'll calm his friend down until he can find or make a cure for him to bring him back. and then he meets ranpo, the sole survivor of the other group of ADA members (yes, even yosano. zombies are undead and aren't close enough to death for her ability to work on but it's like a rlly fine line) ranpo, in short, is rather jaded. he lost his friends and even the person he viewed as a father figure. when he moves into the shelter in the office, he's reasonably upset by kunikida keeping what he likes to refer to as 'dazai's walking corpse' in a spare room that they could easily put to use now. they argue, ranpo says there isn't a cure and that kunikida should just let him go, kunikida asks why, and then ranpo presents The Glasses™, puts them on, then tells him the truth. there is no cure. he'd be the first to know, other than the creators themselves. once kunikida is stubborn enough to still keep good ole zombie dazai around, ranpo states that he doesn't want him eating their rations if he insists on feeding him. there is still a way to feed him, however. cut to them finding the nearest dead body and then tossing it into dazai's room and hearing him feast on it. not a good day for kunikida's values, that's for sure. oh wait hold on did i mention that i also want kunikida to make a endless supply of ammo with his notebook just in case he encounters danger (that would be cool, but he'd probably try to limit his notebook page usage)

ive also considered adding chuuya and akutagawa, as they got stranded when it happened and have been wandering around by themselves for awhile now. i feel like the cast of characters would be an interesting combination, plus they all have connections to dazai and are all upset about his current condition (to some extent). also chuuya could look at ranpo and go "you're that one punk from the agency that trapped me in a damn book!" cue him almost actually punching ranpo this time but kunikida stopping him somehow. everyone's abilities would be so good in a apocalyptic setting though. rashomon tearing into zombies long before they reach them, or for the tainted sorrow crushing hordes of them in emergency situations. great stuff

i haven't decided on the ending yet becuz there are a lot of contenders. kunikida could make a cure, or he could finally decide to deal with dazai, or they could all get zombified, or maybe he could just leave dazai stuck in that room forever while he, ranpo, and the others find a different place, becuz the ADA and PM are no more.

thank u for reading this rant btw! i enjoyed writing it

— dream

It was a wonderful read :)) Thanks for sharing this! I love love the idea of the bsd assemble set in a zombie apocalypse with their abilities intact! (manga spoilers// similar to the bram's vampirism but not induced by an ability kinda) There's so much to work with in that tbh, a lot of adventures and action and cool combos~

And I love the idea that it centers on Kunikidazai with Kunikida not wanting to leave Dazai behind ;w; I think it really fits them well. I remember reading an adorable webtoon similar to this—two best friends getting caught up in a zombie apocalypse, the main character tries to survive as a human and his best friend becomes a zombie that for some reason is not aggressive or attacking (protective bf troupe lezgooo) It's a very cute one, though I lost track of it's update TwT)) sorry if the comparison might sound offensive! It wasn't my intention, I just really like those kinds of troupes in apocalyptic settings hhhh /gen

Whatever route you choose for the plot, I'm sure it would be fun :)) I'm cheering you on for this au! I just hope you don't take the evil angst route /j

[agentsquirrelsgotrobots]

Part four of tarn and Cody fic!

Again, this is a repost of my own work because I didn't know how to use Tumblr at the time.

"Whelp, it had to happen sometime."

Blades said, staring at the spot on his berth. For the first two months on the Nemesis, extreme stress and infrequent food had disrupted Dani's menstrual cycle entirely, her normally heavy periods being replaced by a night of spotting or nothing at all.

Blades took out the box of tampons he kept on him for emergencies and opened it. "Well shit. There's only three left, and only one of them is a heavy. Go put a light in. You've done it in the back of my cab before. You know I don't care."

Dani unzipped her flight suit and squatted, thankful that she learned how to put one in without sitting from a camp counselor when she was in middle school. It is incredibly uncomfortable, but the only toilet she had access to was an incineration toilet, and she was not going to stick her hand into the bowl for any reason.

She heard Blades call Knockout in hushed cybex, the hard sounds of every word reminding her of a steam engine's pistons. Blades got off the phone as Dani zipped her flight suit back up.

Breakdown walked in a few minutes later and picked Dani up. "She's in good hands, Blades. You are a Decepticon now, after all." Blades looked down at his bandaged chest, the new brand mostly healed. He nodded and retrieved some cleanser supplies from out of a cabinet. He had to get the blood out before the vehicons were ordered to perform a surprise room search.

Breakdown transformed around Dani, and a ground bridge opened in front of them. He drove through it, coming out around the backside of a shopping mall with an attached department store. He parked near the front, within view of the glass front of the department store.

"The cash is in the glove box along with a t-shirt and a fake key fob. Get only what you need and get out. Stay out of sight of the cameras if at all possible without acting irrationally, Soundwave will clear them later."

Dani slipped the cash out of the bill fold. "Breakdown, this is four hundred dollars."

"So? Blades said the stuff you get is expensive. I mean, if you pick up a change of clothes, I won't tell. It would make my life easier, at least."

Dani got out of the car, thankful that she didn't have to go inside just in her ripped and stained flight suit.

She saw the door security give her a second look, but she tried not to take it personally. She probably looked awful, with her old shirt over ripped work wear, along with the stubborn gaunt face that refused to regain its body fat no matter how long she eats regularly.

She tucked the money in her pocket, picked up a basket, and went into the women's department, picking out an oversized t-shirt, a pack of underwear, a new bra and a long dress to wear the next time Knockout needs a scan from her. She picked up some liners and tampons, too, noticing how different sales associates seem to be tailing her. She reminded herself that she looked homeless, and they probably thought that she was going to shoplift. She went to the self checkout and gave one of the shop associates a smirk as she pulled out the bill fold and paid with two hundred-dollar bills.

She checked her receipt against the stuff in her bag, counted her change, and left out the doors.

Unfortunately, a store associate still decided to follow her. "Ma'am?" The store associate said.

Dani stopped, plastering a pleasant smile on her face. "Do you need to check my receipt?" She said, digging it out of the shopping bag.

"No, but security would like to talk to you. Ma'am, do you by any chance know anything about a woman named Danielle Burns?"

"No, no, I don't. I heard she was missing, but I am just passing through. My car is up ahead. It's that blue clunker with the duct tape on the headlight. Didn't she crash in a helicopter?"

Dani made her way to Breakdown, pushing a button on the fob. Two security guards came around from the other side, one with a hand on his taser.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I am going to ask you to step away from the car."

Breakdown revved his engine, and for once, Dani was happy that all of the Decepticons had illegal window tint. They couldn't see that there wasn't anyone inside. Dani was surprised when the windows rolled down to reveal an older man in his fifties sitting in the driver's seat, built like an ox with a beer belly and a handsome face. His Decepticon badge was stylized into a gang tattoo on his bicep.

"Girl! Get your ass in the car. I mean it, Ally. Gonna throw you in the pool when we get home to get the stink off ya."

Dani threw her stuff into the car and reached for the passenger side door, but the security guards pulled her out in front of the car. "Ma'am, I can't let you leave in that car. Come inside, the police are on their way."

Breakdown revved his engine, and the security guard pushed her out of the way as he ran them over, hitting her hip and splattering her with blood. Dani whimpered as she forced herself onto her feet and pulled herself up into Breakdown's passenger seat. As soon as she shut the door, he peeled out of the parking lot and pulled back behind the mall, speeding into the open ground bridge.

They were spat out in front of Blades' room. Breakdown opened the door, and Dani jumped down, screeching as her right hip dislocated and her knee buckled, Blades catching her before she hit the ground.

"Give her to me, I will get her to Knockout. Take her stuff inside." Breakdown left the bag by Blades' feet and ran down the hall to the medbay.

"Knockout, the fleshy can't stand!"

"Breakdown, are you sure they aren't just ti- oh shit legs aren't supposed to look like that. Okay, get her on the operating table now. I will get the shears. Her pants are practically rags anyway." Knockout carefully cut away everything that was covering the dislocated hip, prodding at it experimentally. Breakdown hooked her up to the monitoring equipment, and soon, the computer terminals recorded Dani's vitals.

Dani squirmed under his touch, crying out when he stuck a scanner against her pelvic bones and pressed down gently. He looked behind him at one of the computer terminals. "The good news is, you're not knocked up, and there's only one cotton wad up your crotch. The bad news is that your hip is completely dislocated, with what I suspect to be a muscle tear. Probably the ACL, it's supposed to be a common issue. So, I am gonna put you under, clean you up, repair the muscle, and pop your hip back into place and get you some of the good meds so you can be nice and delirious for the next week or so. Breakdown, get me the anesthetic, clean the blood off your hood, then have Flatline get me the autodoc from OR 3."

"Yes doc." Breakdown handed him a palm sized gas tank and a mask designed to fit around Dani's entire head. Knockout carefully slid Dani's head into the mask and released the gas. Knockout kept an eye on her vitals as the dark came up to meet her.

_______

"Now, the final step." Nickel said, wheeling a few machines that were bigger than she was behind her. The energon injections took Cody's body well, and it was finally time to finish the process. Cody was already hooked up to one of the machines, as the monitoring had to be started the night before. "A full energon replacement, with the cyber metal infusion. Tarn, can you hold him for this? You do intend to have a parental bond with it, correct?"

"Yes, Nickel. Just give him to me." Tarn reached for Cody, but Nickel stopped him.

"Tarn, use some common sense. Sit down, so I can hand him to you without ripping every tube I painstakingly placed yesterday."

Tarn sat, and Nickel carefully showed Tarn how to hold Cody without pulling on anything.

He patiently waited as Cody's blood slowly diluted, first going a clear red color, then turning bright pink.

It took a lot longer than he expected, Cody falling asleep shortly after the process began.

Eventually, he woke back up again with a whine.

"Hi Cody." Tarn cooed, petting the former human's smooth head softly.

"Who- who are you? I remember you, but everything is spinning -" Cody's eyes flashed green, and Nickel stuck a bucket under Cody's mouth just in time to keep him from vomiting all over Tarn. He shifted Cody in his hand to a position where he could rub his back with his middle finger while Nickel tried not to laugh at his disgusted face. Tarn flipped her off as Cody moaned and tucked his head against the flat side of his middle chest plate, his bio lights casting a sickly glow on his soft, dull silver protoform.

"Was I different, Sire?" Cody said, his voice sleepy and small. "I remember being more yellowish tan at some point, but my head's all mixed up and achy." Cody's skin started to loosen and peel, and Tarn tried his darndest to keep the conversation going so he could get it off him.

"Yes, yes you were. You were a part of an organic species, but you had a trait that made you very special." Tarn said, pulling Cody under the influence of his Voice entirely and pressing Cody's chest against his own, rubbing his back a little faster. Cody leaned his face into Tarn's touch, and he brushed his round cheek before using his other hand to sit Cody upright. He took off Cody's shirt, and the skin on his chest and back went with it.

"What? What made me special?" Cody said, using Tarn's fingers to pull himself up against Tarn's chest. The skin on his hips and legs came off next, Cody's modesty plates clicking together and sealing with a soft pop. They wouldn't loosen until he was fully grown, which could be thousands of years in the future. If Tarn had his way, they would never be opened. Not for Nickel's health screenings, and he would kill any bot that opened them for pleasure. Even then, he would be lucky to come up to Nickel's hip.

"You had a super special ability to lead, one that I also have. It's called the Voice, and it can help you help others follow your example or even protect you if someone tries to hurt you." Suddenly, each of Cody's thighs slid into two parts, and a new joint became visible through the sagging skin, his knees swiveling to give him centigrade legs.

"Oh, cool! But Sire, how did I meet you?" Cody asked. "My memories are all fuzzy. Just shouting, and blood, and a red bot picking me up when my birth Sire wasn't home."

Nickel helped remove any skin she saw that Tarn missed. She noted that he looked a lot like Soundwave in terms of a body type, missing his tentacles, and with more proportional arms. She knew he wouldn't get much bigger than this, but Tarn would never let Shockwave so much as vent on him outside of a mission briefing. By the way he had her set up the tank and his hold, Nickel knew that Tarn intended to keep him small.

"I took you away from them. The red bot was hurting you, touching you when you didn't want to be touched, while your birth Sire turned a blind eye. You had siblings, but they were just as bad." Tarn rubbed away the skin on his head, and took out a bowl to use as a tub, filling it with the cleanser gel and warm water to dilute it, and putting Cody into it with a splash.

Cody let out a surprised chirp but sunk into the mixture happily. "I remember a fire?"

Nickel took the bowl from Tarn and scrubbed away the last of his skin, leaving the metal shiny and healthy.

"Yes, it killed all but one of your family." Tarn said. You are never, ever allowed to be alone with her, understand? She will hurt you, lie to you, and bring you back to the people who let the red bot and his subordinates live with you in the first place. Are you hungry? Cold?"

"Both." Cody said, startled as his ventilation systems kicked in for the first time as Nickel dried him off and handed him back to Tarn.

"Nickel, swap the-"

"Done and done. The tank will regulate the temperature automatically while you hunt. If you want to introduce Cody to the crew now or just move on to the next target is your call, but I need him to stay on the ship until I can test and examine all his systems and get his scans and vaccines done. You are only being allowed to take him out of here because I know everyone is properly vaccinated. You will also completely disinfect yourself before picking him up again after the hunt. His systems are much too fragile right now to get sick, and if he does, he will get put in intensive care, and then you can't touch him for a vorn."

"Understood. I am going to let him sleep and warm up. Right Cody? Sleep." Cody's optics flickered and turned off. Nickel stuck a few wireless monitors on his chest and head before Tarn put him into the tank.

Cody woke up with his hand in his chest.

No, not on his chest. In his chest. Underneath his chest … plates?

Everything was fuzzy and felt … off.

The food dispenser dinged, but instead of a food bar, a big packet of the medical marked stuff was there. The water bottle was different too, the liquid inside a light pink. He ate anyway, he was too hungry not to, and the last time he skipped a packet, he felt sick for days afterwards and Nickel gave him way more medicine than the tiny packet he missed when she caught him throwing up.

The stuff was still really sweet, and out of desperation to wash it down, he drank the pink liquid. It coated his mouth like cheap lemonade, but he fought himself not to spit it out. If Nickel saw him, she'd just make him drink more.

After he took another sip of the pink liquid, the dispenser dinged again, a food bar dropping into the tank. Cody got an idea and stuck it into his chest. It disappeared, and when he stuck his hand into it again, he could feel it in there. Seeing that, he made a choice, grabbed his beloved jacket, and folded it small. It took some patience and a bit of prodding, but he learned he could open his chest plates bigger. He stuck it in and felt a burst of relief as he opened his plates again and felt the well-worn fabric on his new claws.

He had claws. He balanced differently, too, his center of gravity bobbing up and down as he stepped hesitantly on his different legs. They were still graceful, however, and he realized that he had made them swivel from a centigrade to his normal knee without thinking.

He stumbled back onto his pile of soft things and buried himself in it.

He was just too weirded out to think about the implications of any of this. He curled up and pretended that he couldn't feel his legs shift once again.

Luckily, the warm feeling of a full belly pulled him into an uneasy rest, and he drifted off to sleep.

After a particularly enjoyable hunt, Tarn took Cody out of the medbay and into his room for the first time. He sat on the bed, knowing that Cody was watching through the vid screen.

"Here is something very special to me, Cody. The Empyrean Suite. Want to take a listen? It's quite inspiring."

Cody, bless his little spark, nodded eagerly. Tarn started up the music, and Cody pressed one auditory sensor to Tarn's spark chamber, a self soothing measure that Tarn was sure he didn't even know he had, and tapped his fingers to the beginning few bars of the piece. The music pressed on and more tapping, this time as an accompaniment to the foundational patterns of the music, complimenting it perfectly. Cody started to hum, too, a hint of his fledgling Voice seeping into his acapella rendition of an vosian instrument that stayed within his comfortable vocal register for most of the piece. Both his knees started to bounce too, and Tarn had a rush of inspiration.

He opened his chest cavity and offered the still humming sparkling his hand. He climbed into it, still tapping out a melody that had caught his attention. Tarn set Cody on his berth and gave him permission to do what he so desperately wanted to do. He pressed record on a few strategically placed cameras in preparation for this momentous occasion.

"Move with it." He said, and Cody stuck his left leg to the side of him, the toe, perfectly pointed. He snapped his fingers, a shrieking, metallic sound, for a few beats till the melody that caught him in the first place came back into play.

Then, he danced. He brushed his point foot against the firm berth until it was just slightly behind him, his foot never wavering from that perfect point.

And he began.

Cody was no dancer, it was a hobby he had with little training, just working with what he was comfortable with and what felt good in the moment. He would regularly put on a piece of music and do just this - launch headfirst into the piece when a moment, a note, gave him the command to GO.

Tarn watched in fascination as the piece of music he had painstakingly sculpted so much of his life to was given movement in a new way for the first time.

It was beautiful.

It wasn't perfect, Cody's form was nowhere near professional, but there was something about the wobble of an aborted turn, the determination behind moving through a moment just a bit too fast and executing your next move over and over again to fill time till the next moment take over an the cycle repeats again. Of shifting your weight just a bit too late so a graceful pose looks more like a frozen moment of falling while knowing you cannot, for something righteous, no, someone who stands for something - no, someone who stands in service for someone who stands for something righteous- yes, yes that's it- is watching.

Of a child, so close to becoming a man became a child again.

Megatronus almighty, such a privilege to own such a beautiful being.

Tarn looped the song, just so this moment could continue. He wanted his little dancing pet to fall into his hand in a heap and sleep to the sound of his spark. Be always reminded of the life force of the being he owes his new purpose to, just as he will know the cause he will give his life for.

He refocused on the dancing creature, its wobbly grace still awe inspiring, even as he missed his chosen musical cues and had to pull a new move on the fly in order to not upset the careful and fragile momentum he was feeding and feeding from.

Finally, near the end of the second loop of the already long musical piece, Tarn could see a barely hidden shake in Cody's limbs as he fought his own fatigue in order to keep going. Tarn stopped the loop, and as soon as the last few notes ran out, he cupped his hand behind his legs and scooped him up, tucking him into his chest cavity. Cody let out an exhausted sigh as he pressed his audial against Tarn's spark chamber once again. He didn't so much as hiss as Tarn took out a clean needle and a vial of energon, carefully filled it, and injected it into Cody's neck with the help of his bathroom mirror.

He then rubbed the few drops of energon away, Cody leaning into the touch, recharge taking him before he could even register the pain.

Tarn disposed of the needle and vial and laid down on his own berth.

Yes, he thought. This is how every night with him should be. May I dream of razed cities to pass their names onto him.

He fell into a fitful, dream filled sleep, the answer coming to him and being noted and filed away for later.

It will all be in due time.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Gathered from various sources on the internet autumn_stroll

1. What's your best tip on being a better listener? Do you consider yourself to be a good listener? It's about really listening and hearing what they're saying and engaging with them to show you're listening. To really listen and hear a person, you can't just be waiting for them to be finished or planning how you're going to respond. You need to give the person your full attention.

2. What's something you do less and less as you've gotten older? I've changed so much in the past almost 10 years due to health and life stuff. I'm not the same person I used to be, and not in a good way. I miss a lot of things about my old self and my old life. I feel like there's a ton of things I do less and less as I've gotten older. Like, a lot less effort into my appearance. My hair looks horrible and I want to dye it so badly because for some reason ever since I turned 30 grays just started popping up all over. Life really beat me down, I guess. I just don't enjoy a lot of the things I used to as much and even the things I do still enjoy I just don't have the motivation or energy to do it. During that same span of time I mentioned I also became more withdrawn and closed off; pushing everyone away. Needless to say, I've definitely become less social.

3. Do you believe in your intuition or logic more, and why? You know, I don't know. I always say I'm almost too logical to a fault because I'm able to see things from various angles and I feel it makes me more understanding and empathetic. I can figure out why someone did what they did and then I become understanding and more likely to forgive. That becomes a problem when people take advantage of your kindness and just want to use you. However, intuition plays a huge role as well. If I get a bad feeling about something I'm going to pay attention to it and act accordingly. If I get a bad vibe, I'm going to pay attention to that. It just really depends, I guess. There are things where I'm trusting my intuition over anything else and not being told otherwise. If I don't feel comfortable with something or have a really bad feeling, even if it's not entirely logical, I'm going with my intuition.

4. When was the last time you acted irrationally? What happened? Oh jeez, who knows honestly. One thing about me is that I'm suuuuper stubborn.

5. Are you scared of being lonely? I know loneliness and it's awful, but what I'm really afraid of is being alone.

6. Do you often feel jealous? If so, why? I think survey makers likely mean envy instead of jealous most often. Anyway, I hate to say I feel envy quite a bit and it's an ugly trait of mine in my opinion. At least for me because I get so bitter and ew. I'm happy for others, but I also will feel depressed about myself or sad because I want to do what they're doing or have what they have. Because of that I admittedly like I said get bitter and make sarcastic, snippy comments cause I'm being a hater. Like someone I know just went to Hawaii, somewhere I've always wanted to go, and I was thinking, "oh, how nice for them" or "lucky them, must be nice." lmaoooo ew I'm gross. I really am happy for others, it's just me being miserable and bitter and ugly.

7. How do you react to criticism? Uhhhh, depends. Unwarranted is especially not appreciated.

8. What has made you laugh out loud in the last week? Bridesmaids will always have me dying even if I've seen it a gajillion times.

9. What gift have you gotten in the last year that brings joy to your life? For my birthday I got a new MacBook Air and a new iPhone.

10. What is something you've learned in the past week? I know there's something cause I come across something whenever I'm catching up on trending news or even something on social media, TikTok, or YouTube. Something I've seen on TV or something someone told me as well. We're being bombarded with shit all the time. And we're absorbing it whether we realize it or not. You know, like those annoying TV jingles you catch yourself singing all the words to haha.

11. What are some things you have now that you didn't have five years ago? A lot has changed health wise, so I have some additions there. The little girl in me popped out when the new Barbie movie came around, which happened to be around my birthday, and I may have gone crazy with the Barbie merch lol. Marijuana tablets.

12. What is a quality you have that you consider negative? Now what is something positive that comes out of that quality? It's like I said earlier, I'm very logical and understand, but sometimes it can actually bite me in the ass. I'm very forgiving, which can become a problem if people take advantage of you and feel they can do whatever cause they know I'm not going to do anything. However, being understanding is a good thing, too. I think it makes me easier to talk to and feel comfortable around.

13. What is a small win that you accomplished in the past 24 hours? Yesterday I finally got the blood work done I'd been kinda putting off for awhile. That's that stubbornness I was talking about. Or just pure negligence and stupidity.

14. Describe a small, everyday thing that you enjoy with a special person in your life. I love watching our favorite shows together with my mom and bro. I really look forward to it. It's fun really getting into the show together and sharing our thoughts and predictions.

15. Look around the room you're in and list 10 things you're grateful for. My bed, my MacBook, my phone, my clothes, all the things I've collected of various things from my favorite fandoms, books, this portable AC unit that saved me this summer for real, my wigs, my medicine, and all my giraffe stuffed animals and knickknacks.

16. What is an emotion you try to avoid? Why are you afraid to feel it? I don't want to feel upset, depressed, anxious, etc but unfortunately they like to be felt and heard.

17. Are the people in your life bringing negative or positive energy? Some positive, some negative

[parcequecestnotreprojeeeet]

Hi, it’s me, Fanfic Anon #2. This piece is inspired by everyone’s comments the last few weeks about Emmanuel’s potential Didier jealousy ha ha. 😉 Hope everyone has a good weekend!

He looked up from his book as he heard his wife enter the bedroom after finishing getting ready for bed. “Not funny,” he said darkly when he finally took in her get-up: a baggy French national team soccer kit as her pajama top.

“Oh come on,” she rolled her eyes at him as she approached the bed.

“You know how I feel about Didier,” he told her.

“We’ve been over this how many times?” she asked as she slipped under the covers next to him. “He’s my friend. Just a friend, Emmanuel. I am allowed to have those other than you -“

“I know that -“

“I love you. I love you so much I overthrew my whole life for you, to be with you! When have I ever given you any reason to doubt how much I love you? How loyal I am to you and only you?”

“You haven’t.”

“Then, chéri, why can’t you let this go? Where on earth is this coming from?”

“The way he looks at you! The way the two of you look together, giggling and holding hands. It just -“

“Makes you irrationally jealous?” she asked knowingly.

“Maybe,” he conceded with a sigh as he deflated under her harsh gaze.

“You want to take a look at my back?” she asked starting to turn around, gathering her hair in one hand so he could see the name across the back.

“Why would I want to see -“

“Look at the name, you idiot.”

“Oh,” he whispered as he saw written in all capital letters: MACRON.

“Yes, ‘oh.’ I did this to try and get this through your stubborn head - I am yours. Only yours - body and soul, heart and mind. And if takes walking around with your name literally written on me to prove that point -“

“No, that feels excessive,” he chucked.

She turned around to look him in the eyes, “I know what it’s like to be worried that there is someone else who is capable of stealing away the person who holds your heart. I live with that fear every day, too. You are so extraordinary and I know how remarkable you are -“

“You never, ever need to worry, Brigitte. I will be yours until my very last breath,” he interrupted her to reassure her.

“Just as I am yours, mon cœur. So please, can you let this irrational jealousy go?”

“I’ll try,” he promised.

“Now, in case this little show didn’t take, let me show you how much I love you,” she teased before rolling on top of him and sealing her statement with a desirous kiss.

Hellooo fanfic Anon #2!❤️

Hahaha all these stories about Emmanuel being jealous of Didier make me laugh!

Nice detail there with the baggy French national team jersey with the name Macron hehe 🥰

Thank you so much, fanfic Anon #2! ❤️❤️❤️

[lucy-verse]

Scary how I conveniently come across this post now.

A few days ago, I had to travel to the Isle of Wight (a small island in the English Channel) for my great aunt’s funeral. She was an incredible woman; headstrong, loving, compassionate, stubborn as a mule, and such a control freak that she planned her funeral twenty-two years in advance because even death couldn’t stop her having things exactly the way she wanted.

While we were there, my mother and I stayed at an acquaintance’s house, and I spent the first night crying my eyes out in a stranger’s spare bedroom because this little island held so many memories of not only my aunt but my childhood in general. My sister and I spent nearly every summer at her bungalow, playing with her old Labrador, splashing around in her swimming pool, and watching movies on her tiny box of a television before squeezing ourselves top-to-tail in one of her guest beds. And now it was all gone, and the realisation that I’d never see her again or hear her voice caused me so much pain, I wished for death as well.

The next morning, as I was preparing for the funeral, I went to charge my phone and nearly had a heart attack, because I saw this hanging just about the empty socket.

To say I’m afraid of spiders is a massive understatement. I have such bad arachnophobia, I can’t even sleep in my room if I know a spider is there. I usually kill them on instinct if no one else is around to take them away for me. I’ve even had a panic attack just at the sight of one.

So, there I was, my heart racing and my hand raised, ready to squash the eight-legged monstrosity. And then out of nowhere, I suddenly felt eerily calm. My fear just went away. I looked at this little spider minding her own business and suddenly I wasn’t afraid anymore. I have no idea how or why, but the feeling was just gone.

Then for the first time in the twenty-seven years I’ve been alive, I held a spider in my hands.

It may not seem like a big deal, but you have to realise, this is a creature that I am usually (and irrationally) deathly afraid of, and can barely look at without feeling sick. Yet, as I carried her across the room and let her out onto the windowsill, all I felt was this weird tranquility.

As I mentioned before, there was a terrible storm going on outside. This spider was so light, she was being blown around in the wind, barely able to keep a hold of the windowsill, and suddenly I realised the whole reason she was in the house was likely to seek refuge from the awful weather. As anyone would.

So I reached out, picked her up, and brought her back in.

I carefully set my hand against the wall, gave her time to get a grip, and she slowly crawled up to sit by the TV in the corner.

I decided to call her Charlotte. I know, so original.

I slept like a baby that night. The day we went home, Charlotte had spun a new web for herself and was sitting comfortably by the TV, far less exposed than before. The sight made me smile.

I have no idea what came over me that morning. Why, after twenty-seven years, my fear just vanished. Maybe grief had desensitised me. Maybe my aunt was somehow with me and gave me the courage to show mercy. I don’t know.

But I’m glad I did what I did. If nothing else, it’s what my aunt would have wanted. Because if there was one thing she believed in, it was that nothing deserved to die purely because it existed.

Rare pity, mercy and compassion of the giants called humanity

[feduprona]

Its all in my head

I started to seek professional medical help for my mental health issues on October 2014, I was still reluctant then because I was really clueless about what happens in a typical session with a psychiatrist Like others, I was not really aware of what a psychiatrist really does since Filipino movies and series painted a negative perception that people meet them when they are already hysterical and raging en route rehab facilities. I know it seemed shallow but it was just like that.

I believe depression started when my mother died twelve years ago and I had a deep guilt about not loving and supporting her – I was a problematic daughter who never stopped having troubles since high school. I was sickly, cutting classes, having catfights with other students and when I started working, I always get fired and went home begging her to solve my problems. It did not stop until her last breath and until now, I can still feel the incurable pain I’ve caused her when she was still alive.

I had so much happening in my head and heart and I had no clue that it was already a deep psychological concern. I woke up sad and unmotivated, I never enjoyed my life and I always seek attention and love from other people that I became demanding and eventually lose them. I was a bad friend too; I was always irrationally sensitive and clingy.

I had a hard time doing well in my job—my previous bosses and workmates complained how moody I was. I also had this habit of not joining our corporate gatherings for vague reasons. I always felt tired as days went on as I did not have clear duties and responsibilities as well the most appropriate immediate superior (my work is involved in risk management in food service setup covering wide tasks such as handling customer complaints including food poisoning claims, identifying food related hazards and correcting them).There was also a point when a doctor gave up on me because I was really THAT difficult and stubborn.

I already gave up to the point that it did not matter anymore if I die –by any cause. I was always thinking how much I wanted to end the life as I knew and have it.

I was always lethargic and sad; I was always alone in the piano lounge a known private hospital in BGC. I was  there in the middle of afternoon and just sitting there—crying silently because of my miserable life . One day of September 2014, my friend who happened to be a unit nurse manager there approached me and advised me to go to a psychiatrist. I initially wanted to back out and guess what , I only showed up  to my clinic appointment after seven weeks of weekly schedule .

For the first time in so many years, it dawned to me why I was always tired—I had an impractical commuting routine, excessive working hours , poor eating habits because of stress and lack of proper rest during weekends . I also failed to move on with my past  guilt and hurt  thinking that I  should live in pain for being a bad daughter to my mother.

The on and off therapy ended during the start of pandemic. It was kind of interesting case since unlike the majority, I never feared the COVID itself, I just accepted that I will just die when I get it because of my medical issues. But I was never afraid or worried about it. I am sickly for the past 10 years and getting in and out of hospital every other month was already normal. Maybe because I dealt with much personal battles and tragedies all of my life, I was able to manage the pandemic well. I am not proud of this; some of my closest friend died because of COVID or have lost their livelihoods, jobs and depleted resources.

When ECQ/lockdowns started, I was forced to relocate and live on my own for the first time. I never knew that it was the only thing that I needed to completely heal. I never had to whine over a long EDSA commute, never have to wake up as early as 4:30 AM and go home at 11 pm. Finally, my body started getting complete rest and sleep. I was even able to revitalize childhood hobbies—painting, reading books and playing guitar.I also started having “constants” or regular set of friends with less emotional hang ups on my part. I was comfortable mingling with them at the same time, I was just as cool being alone.

What happened after I started the therapy?

When you go to a psychiatrist, it won’t be just a regular chat—your behavior and symptoms (mental or physical ) will be verified by laboratory tests and there were also time that the psychiatrist will refer you to another specialist. Because of that, I was finally diagnosed to have auto immune disorder and PCOS and eventually got proper medical treatment.

I became more mindful of my feelings. I started to know what is valid and not. I already knew when to take medicines

I stopped mocking people who post sad quotes, suicidal notes I encourage the people around them to check up on them.

I was no longer overly sensitive when people tease me about being “baliw” or “may topak”. I can’t always confront them but I can finally ignore them.—as you ignore the bullying it gradually stops.

I became comfortable and happy being alone—I watched movies at cinemas alone, shopped  and pock groceries without a companion and even attended a lot of art exhibits and comics convention on my own. But who cared? My personal network with the people with shared interests widened.

I started trusting people and accepting that friends can hurt you once in a while and you can actually move pass from their mistakes, because like them ,you can also hurt them at some point

 Because of the above stuff, I did not become my boss’ favorite or a star employee but they finally understood how to deal with me. I was not actually weird—I was just—me. I still don’t like attending parties—but it was also great to be invited sincerely.I became productive  too.

#mentalhealth #depression #anxietydisorder

[cheap-jumpscare]

"are u ok" idk i hope not

hi none of yall have seen me at my worst yet

i actively want to get so much worse. infinitely worse. i need to get as mentally awful as possible. please be mean to me please traumatize me i deserve it. but please dont hate me. if anyone hated me id actually kms. maybe.

does anyone take IDRlabs seriously? is it legitamate? bc

i guess im just kind of fucked up in general. im gonna go through each one and what they mean ordered by highest to lowest score.

SCHIZOTYPAL - a personality disorder. to quote a website i think is pretty smart; '(they are) often described as odd or eccentric, and they usually have few, if any, close relationships. They generally don't know how relationships form or how their behavior affects others. They also tend to misinterpret others' motivations and behaviors and greatly distrust others.' TL;DR abnormal and distrusting of others.

HYPOMANIA - 'hypo' means the opposite of 'excessive' or 'a lot'- so this just means 'under mania' or 'less than mania' if literal, iirc. Quoting wikipedia; 'Characteristic behaviors of people experiencing hypomania are a notable decrease in the need for sleep, an overall increase in energy, unusual behaviors and actions, and a markedly distinctive increase in talkativeness and confidence, commonly exhibited with a flight of creative ideas.' TL;DR weird, energetic, and not sleeping a lot

PARANOIA - we should all know this one. being irrationally afraid of something(s) to an obsessive degree. that's my own definition, anyways.

DEPENDENT - I'd assume this refers to 'how dependent you are on others' whether that be emotionally or in general.

SADISM - finding pleasure from hurting others. often misconstrued as immediately sexual, but not exactly! sadism can also manifest as just feeling better about yourself when harming those around you. this one's score feels a bit inaccurate in my own opinion.

ANTISOCIAL - not being social. simple!

NARCISSISTIC - daily reminder that people with npd are not immediately evil just because they have npd; ive known many narcissists who were actually very cool people! give your local narcissist some support. anyways, narcissism outside of the personality disorder is defined as 'a self–centered personality style characterized as having an excessive preoccupation with oneself and one's own needs, often at the expense of others.' the double-edged sword is that, usually, people who happen to act narcissistic or have npd can also be immensely insecure. again, give your local narcissist some support :(

NEGATIVISTIC - wikipedia says it is 'characterized by procrastination, covert obstructionism, inefficiency and stubbornness.' to be entirely transparent, this one is no longer on the DSM-V. also reffered to as passive-aggresive personality disorder.

DEPRESSIVE - assumedly reffering to either the mental health condition or general depressive symptoms. I'm unsure myself.

BORDERLINE - wikipedia kind of called me out so im not quoting it this time but TL;DR probably refers to symptoms of BPD/EUPD. only some of these symptoms resonate for me (i dont particularly experience the flipping between hating and adoring those close to me, or much dissociation to my knowledge). other than that, I would've expected it to be higher.

SCHIZOID - wikipedia says this is characterized by 'a lack of interest in social relationships, a tendency toward a solitary or sheltered lifestyle, secretiveness, emotional coldness, detachment, and apathy.' I myself am quite open about being low-/no-empathy so that makes sense why it's around this level.

HISTRIONIC - attention seeking.... which i experience a lot. the other listed traits, ('said to be lively, dramatic, vivacious, enthusiastic, extraverted and flirtatious.') don't quite line up, though.. unless we count how I sort of pretend to be more high energy than i ever really am? shrugs

MASOCHISTIC - the inverse of sadism; finding pleasure from being hurt. once again, often interpreted as sexual though this isn't always the case. like with me, some people just hate themselves.

COMPULSIVE - "The main idea of compulsive behavior is that the likely excessive activity is not connected to the purpose to which it appears directed." I have some form of trichotillomania (hair-pulling) so im actually surprised this is at ZERO. though, my trichotillomania mainly manifested for sensory reasons....... stimming by twirling hairs around my fingers.

.. i didnt need to list all of that, but i was worried some of you wouldnt know what words meant. anyways, I took some other quizzes.

This was the likability test. It's not the most accurate in my opinion, but eh. It still sort of works.

.. Wow okay. This is a narcissism test- they only gave 2 options for each question and every single one was two extremes. I wish they'd give a third in-between answer.

the Dark Core Faces test. you pick a face you think is more likely to be one 'negative' thing or another. apparently im pretty good- though im not surprised. I've always sort of been better than others at predicting or guessing things about people and characters.

Anyways I am considering being one of my OCs. sighs.